


Rickquisitioning Rick

by lesbean7



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Gen, M/M, Morty gets Rick out of jail, Morty-centric, Post-Season 2, With a little help from evil morty and a random OC morty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbean7/pseuds/lesbean7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s millions of Mortys that Rick could replace him with. </p><p>He’s irresponsible, selfish, mean, condescending, and– </p><p>And fuck, disparaging Rick’s character isn’t doing anything to alleviate how much Morty misses him. Partially because Rick’s moments of compassion and caring are more common than Morty or Rick would admit to anyone, but also because he doesn’t care. He literally can’t find it in him to give a single shit about Rick being the worst grandpa ever because he’s been the best friend Morty’s ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rickquisitioning Rick

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is kind of a "if I had the time and motivation, I would've made this into a multi-chapter fic, but I don't have either of those, so here's a quick one-chapter version" type of fic. It started with me being like, "What if evil-Morty is evil because his timeline went similarly to C-137 but his Rick didn't turn himself in and the entire family went to jail and that's his ~tragic backstory~" and saying, "ok well so C-137 has the potential to be as calculating as evil-Morty then" and I decided that we can have a morty who's good at planning and thinking of all potential flaws that could trip them up and we can have a morty that's good at delegating, and this is a morty who knows what resources he has and he can theoretically apply them even if he can't use them himself 
> 
> ANYWAY: Hope you enjoy! The title's shitty, I'm sorry, it's supposed to be a play on "Requisitioning" lol

Morty’s never had to think on his own this much before, but he’d tentatively say it’s going alright. Like, he’s had virtually no help from anyone except Summer and himself, and even then she gave up after the first six months of planning. But he’s got it. It’s cool. 

Honestly, he only needs himself. 

“Alright, C-137 here. Everyone good?” 

“C-246 ready to go. And geez, 1-37, your school’s shit. You know that right? Everyone here is a-a grade-A a-hole--” 

“Better get used to it, 2-46. You have three years ‘til graduation--” 

“This is clearly a really important conversation that we need to be having less than fifteen minutes before our mission.” 

“Aw jeez, Mortimer--” Two voices, simultaneously. 

“Mortimer in position. Unity?” 

“Almost there. I have three more guards to assimilate, but it’ll be smooth sailing after that.” 

“You have fifteen minutes.” 

Okay, three himselves and Unity is all he needs. But Morty planned everything and got them to agree, so really, again, he’s all he needs. 

Behind the wheel of some-Rick’s spaceship, he says, “Alright, 2-46, time for you to ditch--Crush your communicator. Like under your foot and burn the remains kinda deal. We’ll contact you after--Well, assuming it goes--” 

“We’ll contact you after,” Mortimer interrupts. “1-37′s trying to say take care of his Smiths. Do that.” 

“Will do. Good luck guys.” 

There’s a quick fzzt, and the line goes dead. 

“Y’know, I should’ve said this earlier, but uh. I really appreciate this, Mortimer. You really--I couldn’t’ve done this without you, and I just--” He stops. He can vaguely hear breathing over the line. Carefully measured, an in-2-3-4 hold-2 out-2-3-4 rhythm. Like when Morty’s on the verge of freaking out and has time to use the techniques the school counselor told him about. 

He says, “Just. Thanks.” 

“Let’s get going.” 

The line cuts out. 

\---

It starts when the Smith family finds out Rick turned himself in. The aliens who picked them up congratulate Jerry for his help in capturing “Galactic Enemy #1,″ so it didn’t take that long for them to figure it out. 

Morty’s exhausted but pleasantly surprised to find that one out. A little bummed, because now instead of basking in righteous anger he has to actually. 

You know. 

Try to get Rick back. 

\--- 

He tries to contact Unity first, but they blocked Rick’s number. And Rick refused to get Morty an inter-dimensional phone until he actually had someone to call, so he can’t work around that one. 

The Council of Ricks’ secretary-Rick stares at him when he calls. “Are you a Morty? Where’s your Rick?” 

“Uh, jail--” 

“If he doesn’t get out in two weeks, we’ll reassign you.” 

They both stare at each other. 

“This is where you hang up, numb nuts.” 

“That’s not--” 

Secretary-Rick, with sharp red glasses and neatly shaved legs propped up on the desk, ends their call without another word. 

\--- 

He spends a couple of days staring at the ceiling. Feeling dejected, feeling like a failure, feeling useless as ever. 

Rick isn’t-- Morty’s pretty sure he’d be at least relatively sane without Rick in his life. He’d probably be able to sleep longer than four hours, or not have to worry about shapeshifting into a fucking car if he daydreams during class. Hell, he might actually graduate high school on time if they keep Rick locked up. 

And Rick’s awful. Like, no question about it, Rick is garbage. He left Mom and never explained why, he uses Morty to accomplish tasks he’s too good for, and apparently Morty Smith is completely replaceable and the Council of Ricks could give Rick a new, better Morty at any time. 

Like literally at any time. There was a machine that answered him with, “Need a new Morty? Press 1,” when Morty called the Council. There’s millions of Mortys that Rick could replace him with. 

He’s irresponsible, selfish, mean, condescending, and-- 

And fuck, disparaging Rick’s character isn’t doing anything to alleviate how much Morty misses him. Partially because Rick’s moments of compassion and caring are more common than Morty or Rick would admit to anyone, but also because he doesn’t care. He literally can’t find it in him to give a single shit about Rick being the worst grandpa ever because he’s been the best friend Morty’s ever had. 

Summer finally emerges from her own cocoon of guilt long enough to kick him in the ribs. As he wheezes, she asks, “So, what? Did Grandpa Rick have a backup plan for something like this or are we winging it?” 

\---

He and Summer hash out a plan, forgetting that they don’t have a spaceship. 

They scratch that plan. 

Most of their subsequent plans get caught up in the need for transportation. 

“This would work but we have no resources to get us out of the state, let alone the atmosphere.” 

“Yeah, good idea, except--” 

“For the fiftieth time, Morty, we don’t have a fucking spaceship!” 

With Earth being a tourist hotspot, you’d think they could just hop on a ship at the airport and get to the moon or something. That’s how Morty’s always imagined the Earth post-semi-peaceful-invasion. Star Trek rather than Star Wars, is what he’s getting at. 

It’s neither of them, really. Earth’s a tourist spot, and everyone comes to visit, but humans aren’t allowed to leave. The human race hasn’t passed the Galactic Federation’s IQ test, is the gist of it, which Summer would complain about being bullshit. Rick was a human, after all, and he was probably smart enough to nudge the average up enough for trips to Mars, at least. 

Morty, secretly, is pretty sure Rick being a human is the real reason they’re not allowed off planet. 

Six months later, Summer gives up. She screams into a pillow afterwards, frustrated and upset and still as guilty as the day of the wedding. Morty doesn’t blame her, though. She’s at that awful stage of teenager-dom where she has to start thinking about her future and if she’s going to college and if she is then WHERE is she going to go to college and if she picks a place what is she going to do there and honestly, it sounds really shitty. And honestly, it makes it easier for him. 

“No, you’re right. I-I mean, we’ve thought of everything. We tried, right?” Morty sighs. Summer leaves the garage, upset and teary. 

That night, Morty moves the important bits of Rick’s stuff into his room after everyone’s asleep. Makes a pocket dimension to hold what doesn’t fit, using one of Rick’s guns, and prays he did it right. He only saw Rick do it a handful of times, like to make the hatch beneath the garage’s floor, but he thinks he managed. 

Most of the stuff blends into the wreck that is Morty’s room, so he’s not worried about anyone noticing his scavenging. Not that any of them intrude on the others’ spaces anymore. Jerry’s consistently high on prescription drugs that the street-robots stuff him with and more than happy to laze on the couch and babble to the lamp. Mom hasn’t left the house in months for anything except liquor and keeps to her room or the kitchen. Summer and Morty were hanging out in the garage to brainstorm and plan, but outside of that, school, and meals, they don’t see each other. 

At dinner, the only time they’re all in the same room anymore, Morty says, “We should clean out the garage this weekend.” 

Mom nods. Stands up and leaves. 

Dad says, “Oh good, sounds like a great idea Morty-Mort! And Summer, these tacos--Delicious, dear, really great, really really really--” 

Morty lets Summer dry while they do the dishes that night. 

\--- 

Morty says, “Dad, can you tell me about your job?” 

Jerry says, “Oh, I work with the mail system! The glorious, federation-funded mail system. I see packages from Gazorpazorp, Cromulon--Heck, we even get packages from the new Nuptia Ford! They’ve rebuilt since your mother and I were there, you know. They have a 99.99% success rate--” 

“So, how are the packages transported? Like, is there a teleporter or a ship or what?” 

\--- 

He spends the week at the citadel. Looking for stray Mortys that don’t have a Rick and don’t want one. Looking for weak, not-so-smart Ricks that he could steal from. Waiting for a guard to fuck up. 

He doesn’t rush it. He has no backup and no one knows where he is. It’s spring break, so Summer’s traveling with friends and his parents think he went with her. It’s a good cover, but it also means he has a limited time frame for his goal. He could come back, but it’s only a matter of time before the Ricks find out that their mail is a huge security risk. 

He lies about his Rick multiple times. (“He’s just in the bathroom, leave me alone.” “What the--What is that? Look, not to be a bitch b-but my Rick’ll kick your ass if you don’t leave me alone right now--”) Apparently, being an unclaimed, relatively normal-looking Morty is dangerous and he could be captured by a random Rick at any moment and get his memories altered. So. That’s another stressor. It’s less of a problem early on day three when he finds an abandoned bathroom that he uses as temporary shelter. Three Ricks go in there to make out, which is gross but fruitful. Distracted Ricks are easy to handle. 

He hits gold on day five. 

An average looking Morty bumps into the bench he’s sitting on, and Morty pauses in his search. Stands up and follows that one. He’s painfully average, but more noticeably, he’s also alone. 

It’s a gamble, and he really, really can’t afford to be wrong. He steels himself, picks up the pace, and pushes the other one into an alcove. 

He stumbles and Morty blocks the exit with his body. Asks, “Hey, uh, sorry. Not a threat, I’m unarmed, first. And uh, second. Are you that Morty, with the uh, eyepatch? The one that stole my Rick and helped the Rick who killed the other Ricks?” 

He barely ducks in time to avoid being choked. He covers his face with his arms and says, “I’m not--Look dude, it’s fine! We’re cool, I’m not-- I just wanted to ask you a question, you know how this place works better than I do!” 

There’s a long, tense moment, but after nothing touches him for thirty seconds, he peeks out. Their eyes meet and Morty can’t look away. 

“How did you know it was me?” 

“You uh. Depth perception,” He says. “You ran into the bench on Friday too, but no other Morty with two eyes has. Not even the clumsy ones. I took a guess that you don’t see too well out of your one eye since--You were wearing an eyepatch last time I saw you, so...” He shrugs. Shoves his hands into his pockets. “And I mean, it’s not like I was approaching a random Rick. You’re the only threatening average-looking-Morty I know of, so I wasn’t really. Worried. Really.” 

The calculating stare shifts, just slightly. 

“That’s observant of you. What do you want?” 

Quickly, Morty says, “I need a Morty who's average, like me. Who has a Rick but doesn’t want one, who doesn’t have a family and wants one. My Rick mentioned that y-The Rick you were working with had a database with information on all of the Ricks and that’s how you knew to find C-137 Rick and not some other one. 

“I figured. You know. Shitty Rick who hates his Morty for surviving when his daughter doesn’t. Something tragic like that. So that. The uh. Morty doesn’t want to be with Rick anymore but doesn’t have an option. That has to exist, right?” 

Morty squirms under the intense gaze. His eyes trail over Morty lightly. 

“Why should I help you?” 

“It’ll take you literally five seconds to give me a name.” 

“Nothing is free.” 

Morty bites his lip. “What do you want?” 

“Transportation. How’d you get here without a Rick?” 

“Do you have a box?” At the other’s look, Morty grins sheepishly. “Postal system works well if you go to and from Earth. I haven’t tried going directly from a planet other than Earth to anywhere else, but to Earth at least, you get there safe--Well, at least in one piece. It takes longer, but I haven’t been disintegrated or, uh. You know.” 

The other Morty points into the crowds. “C-246 will fit your desired profile. He’s wearing black converse, that’s how you can tell him apart.” 

“Okay. Perfect. Thanks, man.” 

Other Morty grabs his shoulder when he starts to leave. “You know that you can’t just take that Morty, right? There isn’t a Morty ‘child services’ that will back you up on taking him away from a shitty Rick.” 

Morty falters. “Er, well. I know.” 

They’re silent for a long, tense moment again. Other Morty exhales a soft breath. “Let’s make a deal.” 

“Okay...?” 

“I’ll handle all of your dirty work. No questions asked. You get me a portal gun. No questions asked.” 

Morty thinks. Says, deliberately, “You don’t fuck with my Rick again. I’m getting him out of jail, and before and after I get him out, you don’t fucking--you don’t touch him or kill him. He’s not like the other Ricks.” 

Other Morty presses his lips together. “Like them or not, he’s a Rick. And Ricks don’t care about Mortys. Why do you care about him?” 

“I just do. And that’s my condition for getting you a portal gun.” He holds out his hand, only trembling slightly. “Deal?” 

He doesn’t answer, but he takes Morty’s hand. “I go by Mortimer.” 

“Got it. I guess, uh--” 

“I’ll call you whatever I feel like.” 

“Alright, that uh. That works.” 

“Let’s go.” 

Morty quickly makes his way to C-246. His Rick is stopped at a shop, bargaining and meddling with salesman-Rick and he’s standing back and away, fidgeting and scratching his arms. He looks smaller, which is ridiculous because all C-dimension Mortys are always the same age. But he does. He’s skin and bones, looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, and he hunches over on himself. He looks like a scared turtle. 

“Hi. C-246 Morty? I’m C-137 Morty.” 

246 startles, despite Morty’s care in approaching. “You uh. Y-you know w-who I am?” 

“Yeah man. I actually heard something through the grapevine I wanted to ask you about,” He says. He thinks that Mortimer will keep 246-Rick from interrupting their conversation too soon, so he doesn’t look anywhere except at 246-Morty. If 246 is anything like Morty, the undivided attention will soften him up. “Do you want your Rick gone? Permanently?” He cringes. “That sounded so lame. I mean like out of your hair, mostly dead, but completely gone and never to be seen again.” 

246 chokes on air. 

“Because I have a proposition for you. And it’ll only work if your Rick’s in a coma. And honestly, like. I’ve seen some nasty Ricks, but from what I’ve--What I’ve heard, your Rick’s actually awful to you too, like irredeemably horrendous to you.” 

Morty watches carefully. 246 crosses his arms and tucks his body in tight. “Kinda intense line of--You’re being kinda i-intense 1-37.” 

“We don’t have a lot of time. Scale of one to ten, how opposed are you to Rick being dead?” 

“He’s all I have left,” He says. 

“He won’t be, if you take me up on my offer.” Morty smiles. A little more sheepish, a little more earnest than he normally lets himself show. “Hear me out.” 

\--- 

Mortimer says, “You’re both like and not like the other Mortys.” 

Morty says, “How the hell did you get in here? Kinda creepy, Mortimer.” 

“See? Not a normal Morty response.” He sits on the edge of Morty’s bed. Leans his weight on one hand and slightly reclines. It’s a power move, to look so casual, but Morty’s exhausted and not really up for it. “I was expecting to hear your shriek. Or throw a fi” 

“I don’t--Whatever you want to hear from me, I can’t tell you. I’m just a Morty. One of millions.” He flops backwards, stares at the ceiling. “Nothing special.” 

Mortimer doesn’t leave that night, for whatever reason. They don’t stay up and talk. He’s still there in the morning, spread out and watching Morty with lazy, half-lidded eyes. Morty dozed off every once in awhile but never fully fell asleep, and he regrets it almost immediately when he sees first bell will be in an hour. 

“I’ll bring you up a plate from breakfast. Mom and Dad wouldn’t even notice, but Summer’s back and would wonder why I suddenly have a twin.” He hesitates, grabs his clothes and decides to change in the bathroom. “You can clean up while we’re eating. No one’ll be coming back up after they eat, I don’t think, so it should be alright.” 

Mortimer’s apathetic, blank face doesn’t change. 

“You’re not like, a vegetarian, are you?” 

\--- 

After 2-46 has quietly taken possession all of his Rick’s shit and reported 246-Rick’s retirement to the council, he moves in via post office. Gives Morty all of the shit he inherited from his Rick--Including an entire planet, jesus, how rich was 246-Rick--But more importantly, papers. Social security papers. An ID. Important things. 

They get along pretty well. Morty likes 2-46. He’s more skittish than Morty, but then again, he wouldn’t be here if he had had an easy time of it. He’s gentler, more aware of consequences, and above all has a nasty temper. But he’s still a Morty. And he’s a good one. 

Mortimer sneers at 2-46 when he’s over, randomly showing up without explanation. Morty elbows him harshly if he gets too mean. 

“Look, I-I’m not trying to--What if your plan doesn’t work?” 2-46 blurts out one day. He’s curled up on the bed while Morty fiddles around on his laptop. “Where do I go?” 

Morty shrugs. “I mean, you don’t have to stay here, but if the plan doesn’t work I’ll come clean to my family and tell them everything. They won’t care. Summer will probably make us--Ugh, we’ll have dish duty for months, but I mean, nothing spectacular. I’m assuming you mean, like, if I make it back and it doesn’t work, right?” 

2-46 nods. 

“Don’t worry, man. I won’t--I’m not gonna kick you out. I promised you that you’d have people. I can share.” 

Things are smoother after that. 2-46 has more confidence, isn’t as afraid to be sarcastic or icy. He’s still a little more eager to please than Morty, but not unusually so. 

\---

Morty tosses Mortimer a pack of cookies and sits on the floor, sighing. He leans back against the side of his bed and closes his eyes. 

2-46 is out, doing something or other with the town. Morty told him to start being involved in the community, so people start recognizing ‘Morty’ around town and will remember him. He suggested joining volunteer groups and attending the new “cultural assimilation” courses that are “optional but highly, highly recommended” by their federation-liasion. 2-46 loves it all, always comes back with some tidbit of information about a townsperson or federation agent. Morty wonders how long Rick isolated him from everyone except Ricks that his neighbors make him happy. 

“What?” Mortimer asks. He nudges Morty with his boot, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Morty smacks it away. 

“What?” 

“You’re being mopey. Why?” 

Morty sighs again. “Finally got through to Unity. They say they won’t do it. They’re trying to make things work with that other hivemind and assimilating Galactic Federation employees will make Beta-whatever-their-name-is upset since they’re finally about equal sizes.” 

Mortimer says, “Unfortunate.” 

“Yeah. Frustrating as hell, too. Last time we saw Unity, they were willing to do anything for Rick. Dunno what changed.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head back further. “I was kinda banking on her. I’m not--Definitely not smart enough, but also just not fast enough or skilled enough to pull this off without some manpower. I guess I could use Rick-246′s cash to pay off some stray Mortys, but I’d rather not.” 

Mortimer nudges him again. “Try Unity tomorrow again. See what happens. Maybe they just needed to think about it.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Morty opens his eyes and smiles tiredly at Mortimer. “Well, no use working more tonight. 2-46′s sleeping over with the scout troop, I think, so we don’t have to try to find a game that has three player action. Want to play Amnesia?” 

He might imagine it, but Mortimer’s eyes seem brighter when he suggests it. “I don’t--” 

“I’ll need to have my hands free to cover my eyes, so you should control.” 

The evening’s a blur of junk food, a little (more than a) bit of booze from Rick’s stash, and Morty hiding his face in Mortimer’s shoulder while Mortimer rolls his eyes and smirks at him. It’s a nice night. 

He falls asleep on Mortimer’s shoulder. He wakes up with his head cushioned on Mortimer’s chest and his sheets pulled tight around them. 

It’s nice. 

\--- 

Unity agrees when he calls them the next evening. The person they’re using is clearly frazzled. 

“I’ll get started on it right away, Morty. We’ll get him out. I promise. If I have to assimilate the entire Federation--” 

“That uh, great! But don’t. We want this to be discrete. As quiet as possible.” He grins broadly. “This means a lot, Unity, thank you--” 

“Yeah okay fine bye.” 

The line dies, and Morty looks at Mortimer. Unruffled, quiet, stone-faced as always. 

“Aw geez, Mortimer.” 

He tries not to laugh when Mortimer’s face flushes red. Just lightly. Always the cool kid, after all. “What?”

Morty doesn’t say, “Thanks, Mortimer.” He does bump shoulders with him amicably, though. 

\--- 

What amazes Morty is that Mortimer really, truly, thinks he’s not a Morty at heart. He thinks that everything he’s been through, the things that keep him from sleeping, the things that make him flinch, the things that keep his face blank and dull--He thinks it all erased his core. That he’s something different. 

Morty sees it, though. His core Mortyness. The need to please, the desire to be a hero and do the right thing, the obsession with sex. Shit like that. It’s twisted and warped, but it’s still there. 

(Mortimer says, "You’re going to freeze,” and hands him a sweater. Morty’s heart thumps as he puts it on. 

Mortimer says, “You can figure this out,” and nudges him with his foot. Morty barely resists pressing against the touch. 

Mortimer says, "You matter," and presses against his side. Morty swallows past the lump in his throat. 

Mortimer says, “Your Rick doesn’t deserve you,” and looks away. Morty carefully doesn't say, “Your Rick should be in Hell for doing this to you.” )

He wonders if this is how Rick feels when Morty so blatantly looked up to him. At least Rick deserves it. He’s smart and interesting. 

Morty’s pretty average. 

He says that, at one point. 

“Why do you think I’ll be able to get you a portal gun when you haven’t been able to?” Morty asks. “I’m not as smart as you, or sneakier. Don’t have more resources, don’t have any--” 

“Shut up.” Mortimer punches his arm. “Stop being self-deprecating. It’s annoying.” 

He rubs at the bruise that’ll be forming. “One: Ow. Two: It’s not self-deprecating if it’s--” 

“Didn’t I say to shut up?” 

\--- 

The first thing Morty says to Rick after a year's separation is, “Hey, Rick. Close your eyes for juuuuust a sec.”

The first thing Rick says to Morty after a year's separation is, “Morty? What the hell?”

“Done! You can look now.” 

Rick collapses to the ground when his restraints are released. He groans. “Jesus, M-Morty, give a guy a warning--”

“Not to rush you, but we--I need you to strip, like, right now, and help me put your jumpsuit on that Rick.”

“What the fuck.” 

“Rick, don’t worry. Just help me--Rick, just help me put your jumpsuit on Rick. So like. Strip. Now.” 

\---

It’s a quiet escape. Unity gives them a clear path without saying a word and Mortimer keeps all surveillance on a loop. They make it to Rick-246′s ship with time to spare.

It’s a long ride. 

“So let me recap. Because I’m way, waaaaay too sober to get all of this in one go.” Rick clears his throat and leans back in the passenger seat. “You teamed up with crazy-evil-Rick’s Morty to find a lame Rick to switch places with me. A really fucking lame one, fuck Morty you couldn’t--You had to pick one of the council’s bitches, didn’t you?” 

“It was a council bitch or a doofus.” 

“Pickpocketed portal guns and phones--” 

“And some wallets.” 

“And some wallets,” He amend. “From random Ricks. Somehow convinced Unity to help you get me out. Had them do the heavy lifting. That about it?” 

“I didn’t steal the guns and phones just for--I didn’t do it for the hell of it. We had to make signal jammers and get 2-46′s tech working again.” Morty puffs his chest out and grins. “We made intergalactic walkie-talkies, you know. Secure line and everything.” 

Rick ignores him. “So, what? What did you think happens now, Morty? Think that, what, we’ll go back to normal? Everything’s fine, I just say that I’m a different Rick now-- There are checks and balances and shit for Ricks, you know. Council’s going to notice that their pal’s gone. And I’m the problem Rick, I’m the rebel so I’ll be--They’ll go straight to that cell and find out he’s not me. What then? I run forever? Real great plan, Morty, r-real fucking swell.” His arms are folded across his chest, hands clenching his upper arms tightly. 

“Jeez, Rick, relax. I have it handled.” 

“Oh, you have it handled? You with your--You’re a fucking moron, you have no idea--and you think you have it handled?” 

“Rick, seriously--” 

“No no, you listen to me, shithead. Fucking dipshit. You think I wanted to be free? That I--I could’ve broken out at any time, I didn’t need you coming in and fucking it all up, fucking it up like a fucking piece of fucking shit--” 

“Shut up. Seriously, Rick, shut up.” Morty cuts the engine and turns in his seat, sighing. He’s tired and doesn’t really want to explain everything, right at this moment. This has been almost a year in the making, and he kinda wants to bask in the victory for awhile longer before rehashing everything and wondering what he could’ve done better. “I didn’t steal the wallets and phones and portal guns for fun. I already said that. I stole enough official shit from C-dimension Ricks that they had to reissue those Ricks’ ‘Rick identification objects’. Like, the stupid laminated card and their guns. They're tracking the old ones, but they're broken and in Mortimer's old dimension now so they'll just blame it on the 'rogue Morty' again. 

"Because Rick 2-46 was such an ‘upstanding Rick’--He was the head researcher, I guess? I dunno, 2-46 doesn’t like to talk about his Rick much and I didn’t pry--he only had to send in a form with a DNA sample. Get it? 

“Mortimer helped me hook my laptop up to the Ricks’ network. I used 2-46′s access info, given to me by 2-46′s Morty, and Mortimer’s hacking skills--though apparently saying ‘hacking’ is like, super old and lame and not what people say today, who knew?--to copy and paste your DNA sample into his past records. Basically. So you’re welcome on that front. 

“2-46′s Morty sent in that Rick’s retirement paperwork a couple weeks back. He fakes 2-46′s Rick’s signature really, really well. So you’re welcome on that one too, Rick.” He pauses and adds, “And I know you could break out on your own. But you weren’t breaking out, for one, and for another, it wouldn’t have been as clean and quiet as /I/ was able to do. So what would the point of been? You would’ve just been running from them. So, yeah. You didn’t. I figured out a way to do it quietly. So I did.” 

Rick looks at Morty. Really, really looks at him. Mutters, “When’d you get so fucking cocky?” 

“It’s not-- Look, I’m not looking for you to thank me, but I’d also appreciate it if you don’t actively insult me when I gave up my entire dimension to get you out. Alright?” 

“Whoa whoa whoa, what do you mean you gave up your dimension?” Rick stares. “Morty, you have to go home. This isn’t like the Cronenberg shit, you can’t just leave a dimension like that! Your parents, Summer, jesus Morty--!” ” 

“No, see, Morty 2-46 is at home. Being me. He needs a family more than I do.” 

“Jesus fucking--What the fuck’s wrong with you?” 

“Hey, if the choice is between three more years of math class and traveling the universe until something offs me...” Morty shrugs. “I am related to you, you know. Running, tricking, fucking around--That’s from your side, I sure as hell didn’t get that from Jerry, I...

“This is what I want, Rick. And getting you out? Fucking with the Federation without them even knowing?” He grins, starts the engine back up. “Means that I can--It's a sign that I can handle myself pretty damn well if I have to. Still not great, still not on your or Mortimer’s level, but I did alright. I’ll do alright.” 

“Who said I even want you around?” Rick says. “Maybe I want to go solo.” 

“Hey, I’m not the one who got all sentimental and gay and went on and on about ‘Rick and Morty for a hundred years,’ is all I’m saying.” 

\--- 

They get to the planet 2-46 Rick owned, the planet Morty’s already decided will be their home base, a couple hours later. Rick helps him with the dimension hop, but it’s clear he’s exhausted and unwell after months in a shitty facility. His arms look bent out of shape, like he can’t put them down completely quite yet. 

Morty makes a note to dig through 2-46 Rick’s notes. A Rick with no ethics and a young, defenseless guinea pig could get a lot more done than a smarter Rick with ethics, he imagines. Maybe 2-46 had a working Project Phoenix and they could get Rick a /slightly/ younger body. Not teenager young, but maybe in his twenties or thirties. Hell forties would probably be safer, maybe just young enough that he won’t die if Morty pokes his gut the wrong way. 

Before they get out of the ship, Rick threads a hand through Morty’s hair and tugs it lightly. “You did--It was moronic, and stupid, and the dumbest thing anyone could ever do, you know. I deserved to be in that cell, I’m not--This wasn’t like a mistaken identity thing, I definitely did everything they put me in there for. Like. I’m not a good dude. You know that.” He takes a deep breath. Exhales it slowly. “But you did it well. You did real well, and I--Shit, you did good. That’s all. You stupid little peanut, you.” 

He pulls Morty into a noogie, and Morty laughs and only halfheartedly tries to resist. “Aw jeez, Rick, knock it off--” 

\--- 

Rick says, “Fancy shit. Guess it really was a douchebag Rick we stole from. Niiiiiiiice.” And immediately passes out on the couch. 

Morty covers him with a blanket from the closet before shoving his earpiece back in. He says, “Mortimer, you there?” 

It’s quiet, and Morty almost sighs in disappointment--It was a gamble, hoping they’d work across dimensions. 

“News stations aren’t exploding, so I’m assuming everything went smoothly on your end.” 

Morty feels his lips curve into a bright, happy grin. “Well, didn’t have to shoot anyone. I’d say that’s smoothly.” 

“Dull.” 

“I’d rather say ethically easy, for once.” 

“Yes, because assimilation is so ethical--” 

“Jeez, Mortimer--” 

“Puking into other people’s mouths without their consent is the height of ethics--” 

“Shut up, you know what I mean!” Morty laughs. 

“Why are you calling?” He asks abruptly. 

He feels his grin slide off. “Uh, yeah. I guess we should--” 

“I understand if it will take you anywhere between a week and a year to acquire my side of the deal,” Mortimer says. A little too quickly. “I know where you are, and I have ways to reach you. I’ll ensure you don’t forget your task.” 

“Actually. Uh. Check under your seat.” 

He fidgets and twiddles his thumbs. Waits and waits and waits, knowing that’s Mortimer’s way of punishing him. It’s a solid twenty minutes before he speaks up. He knows, because Mortimer likes two’s and it’s been longer than two minutes. 

“How long?” 

“Well before we made our deal,” He says. “You don’t think I was just at the citadel to recruit Mortys and look nice, did you?” 

“I know why--” 

“You don’t,” Morty blurts. “I didn’t--You would’ve kept your word. You’ve been really, really great, and so helpful, and even if I had given you it earlier you would’ve still finished this with me. But I uh. Really liked that you had to stop at Earth with your transport. Every time. T-that you’d stop by and hang out. And if I gave you a gun, I’d only see you when we set up a meeting. Which would be. Uh. Really fucking l-lame.” 

“And there you go again.” 

“W-what?” 

He’s answered by a bright green light. A portal opens up across from him and Mortimer steps through. Cool as ever, face empty and apathetic. 

His good eye, though--That’s a different story. 

Morty watches as he clips the gun onto his belt. Watches him stalk forward. Hesitantly asks, “Mortimer?” when he gets close. Doesn’t resist when he’s pulled into an embrace, when Mortimer tucks his head into the crook where Morty’s neck meets his shoulder. Shudders when lips gently brush against the skin there. 

“You’re something, Mo. Stop thinking you’re average. I know average people. I know average Mortys.” His words, barely more than a whisper, accompanied by hot, humid breaths, send a shiver up Morty’s spine. “You’re not average. I wouldn’t associate with you if you were.” 

He tries really, really hard not to think about if this is incestuous or not. He tries even harder not to think about how much he doesn’t care, because Mortimer’s pressing his lips against his neck, peppering lingering kisses all the way up to his ear and it’s nice. He tugs on Mortimer’s hair until they’re face to face, curses quietly, and kisses him a little less nicely. 

Fuck it. Nobody belongs anywhere. 

\--- 

Rick wakes up to two Mortys arguing over breakfast. Every day. Every. Single. Fucking. Day. Eyepatch-Morty doesn’t like pancakes, his Morty doesn’t want meat that isn’t from some type of Earth-like planet, blah blah blah. 

He grumbles about having to deal with two grandsons, but eyepatch-Morty is pretty useful. And he sorta owes the little shit for helping his Morty. 

His Morty’s grown a lot, and Rick can tell that those two will adventure and do Morty-shit long after he’s gone. He’s less worried about the idea of it than he used to be. His Morty won't be alone. Sorta. The whole, multiple-universes thing makes it difficult to tell if Morty's actually with someone or if he's just two of himself and still technically alone. 

Well, he amends, somewhat less worried. As always, they're making gooey eyes at each other and subsequently making Rick gag. The weird gay-maybe-incestuous-codependency thing they have going on is concerning. And eyepatch-Morty will absolutely kill Rick in his sleep someday, Rick’s already changed his bet from “dying anywhere except in a cage” to “dying via alternate-Morty and a pirate hook.” Which is concerning in a whole different way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. Kudos and comments are appreciated and fawned over in turn lol~
> 
> My fandom sideblog on tumblr is @littletoughfandomstuff if you want to follow me there, but I don't post super often. I'm trying to do it more but eh. I don't claim to be reliable.


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